Jerrol, as it Pleases You, My Lady
by Foolish Mortal
Summary: Centered around Tlanth, gossip in Athanarel, and Jerrol's first meeting with Meliara Astiar. This fic is probably not going to be read by the multitude of Melanric and Flaustra fans...


**Disclaimer: I do not own Crown Duel for it is one of Sherwood Smith's crowning achievements, if you will forgive my pathetic pun. **

NOTE: If you haven't read all of Crown Duel or Crown Duel Part One (depends on whether you have the 1997 copy or the 2002 copy) this one-shot contains spoilers!

This is my first one-shot. I'm more of a chapter fanfic girl, myself.

And it is one of the paragons of fantasy-adventure in my opinion. It is one of my Holy Books of Fantasy, Black Magician Trilogy being another.

So I was reading Crown Duel today and I got to the part where Jerrol the equerry arrives at Erkan-Astiar with the letter telling Meliara that they've been given a small fortune and this one-shot just flowed onto the page; I finished it in one sitting.

This is Jerrol's point of view with a bit of innocent JerrolOria.

-

* * *

The ride to Erkan-Astiar is tortuous to say the least. It's no wonder Tlanth is considered solitary and standoffish; miracle if you can get to the next own through all these damn mountains. Though I must admit, there is a sort of majesty and calm about them. You feel the your worries drop away- dutifully replaced by other worries such as, how am I to navigate around this ravine- and it seems like you've stepped into another world. I feel like if we desecrate citadels and capitols as the years go on, if we murder, steal, torture, wipe out each other from the face of the planet, these hills will still be there, untouched until the end of time. 

Sometimes I think I heard a reed pipe, a whisper through the trees, the silhouette of a tall sinewy form watching me through the glorious sparkling colourwoods as I ride by.

Burn it, I really need some rest.

And food.

I finally arrive at my destination, galloping through a village where I attract stares from everyone. Maybe because I'm a new face. Probably because of my livery. Against the sober worn well-mended garb of the villagers, I feel very self-conscious in my suddenly flamboyant-looking suit. If this were another town, I might have people pressing towards me, hands outstretched for alms. Not these people. I can see the hard pride gleaming in their eyes. My respect for Tlanth grows as I see them but what kind of countess would let her people live like this? Unless the talk I have heard is true. That Tlanth is one of the poorest counties in Remalna and even the nobles wear rags. That I would be able to hold all of Tlanth's tax money and treasury in my two cupped hands.

Do I believe it?

Maybe so.

-

Yes, my business is with the countess of Tlanth, famous or infamous as she is- depends with whom you talk to. Meliara Astiar, the girl…no, _woman_ who was captured by the enemy after getting caught in one of her own people's traps-damn those things must hurt- and presented in her shabby gore-crusted state to Galdran's court of finery. And she glared at him as if she were the one sitting on the throne, witnesses say. Meliara Astiar, who chose a criminal's death over surrendering her cause.

She who escaped from her cell and became a fugitive, pursued by the duke of Savona and the marquis of Shevraeth and as if that weren't enough, Galdran's search parties taking up the rest of the blasted parade. Yes, I've heard how she so valiantly evaded Galdran's search parties and how she received succor from some altruistic people of Athanarel- very quietly and covertly, which means that obviously anyone who mattered knew about it- and how she ran with her wounded foot practically the length of the whole damn kingdom (I exaggerate monstrously, of course) and was finally captured by Debegri- may his ancestors spit on his grave.

And I've heard also the story at the fortress Chovilun, where she narrowly escaped torture and then the ride to Renselaus- Amol is a friend of my cousin's and he said he never saw a person so friendly and at ease with common folk. Well, I'm blabbing.

She, the marquis of Shevraeth, Count Branaric, and herself rode against Galdran, the duel to the death with Galdran (stories vary from person to person; some people say she defeated him with a single stroke, some people say it never happened. Of course, there are some that say as she drew it, her sword began to glow with an unearthly blue light. Really, don't people have something better to do than spin fireside tales?)

So it ended. Galdran was dead and his troops subdued. The count and the marquis rode back to Athanarel but the countess quietly stepped out to return to her home. Where she has not set foot out of ever since.

Do I believe all of _that?_

My answer is less certain.

-

I wonder what this countess Meliara looks like?

War-plagued and horrendously scarred?

Seven-feet tall and glowing golden?

-

As I arrive, - the servants here do not wear livery, I see. Perhaps they cannot afford it- I am shown in and lead to the kitchen, and I wonder at the bare floors and walls and the scant furnishings. Perhaps those claims of poverty are true; I've never met a countess in rags before. How should I behave? I fight down a bubble of humor. Immediately I sense that this Erkan-Astiar is different than anything I've seen before. For one, I am being shown to the kitchen. Secondly, I am being shown to the kitchen because it is one of the only warm rooms in the whole estate. Burn it, they don't even have much to use as fuel for fires. Feeling even more self-conscious.

-

I know myself to be in a surly company as soon as I arrive. There are three to greet me; a plain practical woman eyeballs me with her arms crossed and her expression wary. Beside her- is it her daughter- is a rather pretty young woman with curls as dark and coiling as mine. Lastly I see a thin girl beside her; by her stature and build, she doesn't look much older than fourteen but her features are timeworn and her dark-blue eyes are old. They remind me of the hills.

"My errand is with my lady, Countess of Tlanth," I proclaim, trying to look cool and collected. It must not have worked for now the two have fixed me a slightly disparaging look.

The thin girl steps forward. "I am she."

One dubious glance escapes before I beat it over the head with a blunt object and lapse back into my cool expression. This is the countess of Tlanth? Well, she's not wearing rags, for one thing. But her garb is as the villagers' are and a dusty headscarf covers her remarkable hair. Why would a countess wear a headscarf? Was she cleaning before I arrived? Dashing that unlikely thought from my head I bow low to cover my surprise.

The older woman clucks in what I perceive to be a rather disapproving tone and I wonder if they are thinking of using the kitchen knives on me. One misstep and a suit of superior livery and they're ready to hang you. Tough people up here in Tlanth.

"Surely you'll have been warned that we are very informal here," the countess adds and gives me a brilliant smile.

Suddenly, her whole face changes; eternal eyes crinkle with merriment, eyebrows lift, and laughter lines crease her face. Even the scar at the side of her face- given by Debegri himself, I've heard- curves jauntily. Absolutely un-Courtly. Absolutely genuine.

I feel myself blushing and try to fight it down. Her spirit could lead a nation and I wonder if Remalna would have been better off if she and her brother _had _taken the crown.

I bow again, as if to apologize for my blush and say, "My lady, I was to give this directly to you."

Meliara Astiar holds out a hand and I see streaks of dirt across her palms. I see calluses- not from swordwork but from labor- and I see the slight scars circling her wrists like bracelets. Marks of rope burns. Her past is with her wherever she goes. Her story is true, I think. Well, except for maybe the part about the duel with Galdran, I add quickly as I see again the calluses.

Hastily, she wipes her hand on her skirt and proffers it once more. She looks at me and grins as she sees the twinkle in my eyes but I quickly iron it out and hand over the message. "Welcome among us," she continues and I appreciate that she is trying to make the atmosphere friendlier for me. "What is your name?"

"Jerrol, as it pleases you, my lady," I answer and bow again. Damn, I've got to stop bowing so much.

She considers this as she leans back to sit on the slate table behind her. "Well, it's your name if it pleases me or not." Then she sees the preparations for food scattered about the table and quickly jumps off. I see the girl with the curly dark hair notices this and tries to hide a grin. "Tell me, Jerrol," Countess Meliara continues, a glint of mischief in her blue eyes. "If a great Court lady mislikes the name of a new equerry, will she rename him or her?"

I am perplexed for a moment but then a young boy's voice shouts out, "Like…Frogface or Stenchbelly?" and I see three or four young scamps peering through the window. I have a feeling that no proceedings-even one as minor as an equerry arriving- will be kept secret in a county like Tlanth.

Court training has no use in a place such as this, I realize and so I give her my finest most fantastical bow and proclaim with the best of my training, "An my lady pleases to address me as Stenchbelly, I shall count myself honored."

The tension dissipates as everyone begins to laugh and I relax a bit. Countess Meliara replies with twinkling eyes, "I think you'll do, Jerrol, for all your clothes are better than any of us have seen for years,"- ah, so the talk was true. But I think even if she were a Rag-Countess, my lady Meliara could win your heart with a word, with a look- "But you will have heard something of our affairs, I daresay," she continues. "and I wonder how my brother managed to hire you and fit you out this splendidly in our colours."

And I see the Count Branaric sending me off with a reckless grin, saying, "Will _she_ be surprised!" But I don't say anything.

"Wager on it yon letter will explain," the older woman tells her, her previous hostile expression gone as she returns to her work. Not even bothering to call her 'countess' or 'my lady'! And I thought I had been surprised so many times in one day that I could be astonished no more. Clearly the whole of the county is out to prove me wrong.

"Oh!" the countess exclaims and her gaze is uncertain for a few seconds as her eyes flit back and forth from her friends- not just servants but _friends_; can you imagine- in the kitchen and the letter in her hand.

Finally, she turns away to read it by herself, her expression thoughtful and wary. As I stare after her, the girl with the dark curly hair says, "Come Master Jerrol, there's some good ale here, and I'll make you some bread and cheese." And I realize I am being addressed. Well, so I've been accepted.

The countess's gaze darts up for a second to her curly-haired friend and a grin flits across her face before she exits. As I look to the girl's- Oria's- smiling face, I think, uh oh. And then I wonder if Oria is past her Flower Day and if her mother would object to us-

-I'm suddenly ravenous and as I dine on Tlanth's plain fare, I find that it is more filling and delicious than anything I've ever tasted at Court.

I think I will like Tlanth, for all of its mountains and meadows, and it's friendly people, full of pride and warmth.

And the Countess Meliara Astiar of Tlanth. Her, I will follow till death takes me.

-

* * *

**Note to paranoid readers; 'follow' does not mean stalking! He means, follow her command. **

**On her website, Sherwood Smith details some parts of fan language; you should go see it! I cannot WAIT till the fourth Wren book comes out!**

**Oh, and the sequel to this fanfic is "Letter By Courier" so please check it out!**

**I shall not force thy hand, good reader but I should greatly appreciate it if thou woulds't click yon review button. **


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